


Redeemed

by Gryph



Category: Enemy Mine (1985)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen, One Big Happy Family, Religion, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryph/pseuds/Gryph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jerry didn't die when Zammis was born, and the three of them were rescued by the Drac. Davidge remains with his new family on the Drac homeworld, but Jerry believes he has a larger destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redeemed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobgoblin123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/gifts).



_Where is the hand for me to reach?_   
_Where is the moral I'll never teach myself?_   
_In all the black, in all the grief, I am redeemed_   
_~Charlotte Martin_

“Daa-witch,” Jeriba Shigan said to the human who sat on the grass next to it as they watched Zammis scamper over the rocks nearby.

Willis Davidge knew that inquisitive tone of voice well. The smirk that twitched on his lips belied the rolling of his eyes. “Yes, Jerry?”

“Are you... happy living amongst the Drac?” it asked, tilting its head to one side. “Do you not wish to go visit your own _irkmaan_ people?”

“Zammis!” Will called out. “Watch out for _skekzars_ in those rocks! You get stung, and you are going to be sorry!” _Skekzars_ were similar to scorpions on Earth, and although not poisonous, their bites were still painful.

“Daa-witch,” Jerry pressed, reaching over to stroke the human's hand to get his attention.

Will waited until Zammis raised its hand in acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to Jeriba. “What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, Jerry, of course I'm happy here.” His eyes took on a strange, haunted look. “I told you before, I can't go back to Earth.” He pulled up a few blades of the grass—which were orange and grew up in tight spirals, but he though of it as _grass_ all the same—and toyed with them, his eyes downcast. “They... they would kill me for being a traitor.”

“Trray-torrrr?” Jeriba trilled.

With a put-upon sigh, frustrated not with Jeriba but with the failings of his own people, Will said, “Someone who betrays their people.”

The oval breathing organs on the sides of the Drac's head fluttered, an expression of outrage. “But you have _not_ done anything of the sort, Daa-witch! Why would the _irkmaans_ call you this trray-torrrr if you have not made a betrayal?”

“Jerry, I've stood before the high council of Dracon and joined in your ceremonies. I've learned your religion, the teachings of _Shizmaa_ from the Talmon. Hell, I learned to speak fluent Drac and didn't go back to help the military translate intercepted messages. And technically, I'm a deserter.” His voice rose in pitch and color flushed high in his cheeks as he finished his litany. He pitched a stone he had picked out of the grass with a sideways flick of his wrist. “The Earth government doesn't exactly look kindly on all that shit.”

Jeriba made a gurgling noise that was meant to be soothing. “Ahh, Daa-witch. After all this time, I do not understand your people. Perhaps that is why this war has continued. Your irkmaan people should welcome you with open arms, put you in charge of finding a way for Drac and Irkmaan to live in peace. After all the time you have been with me and Zammis, you are best to understand Drac.”

“You'd think, wouldn't you?” But he shook his head ruefully. “Sometimes I'm not sure I understand Drac at all, though! Look at you and me, Jerry. We started out trying to kill each other. You _know_ I've killed a whole lot of you toadfaces,” he slipped into the old slang he hadn't used in a long time, to make his point, “and yet when we were rescued by a Drac ship, I was treated like a goddamned Prince. Just because you said I was a nice guy?”

The Drac leaned closer and tapped one of its clawed fingers on the small metal book, the Talmon, that still hung from a chain around Will's neck. “They recognize a seeker of truth. They saw the brightness of your spirit.” It waggled a finger at Will in a distinctly human gesture. “You do not remember well all the teachings of Shizmaa.”

Rising up on its knees, Jerry tilted back its head and began to sing. The words were guttural, with rolling trills and throaty ululations, while being incredibly melodic and lyrical. Will closed his eyes and listened; he had long ago overcome his initial dislike of what he thought of as the harshness of the Draklanguage. He could—and had—listen to Jerry sing in this way for hours. There was something soothing but powerful, evoking emotions that he could barely name, and felt his heart would burst to express.

A smile ghosted across his face as he translated the words from the Talmon. For some, there was no direct translation to English; they could only be approximated with convoluted phrases. But as the words flowed over him, he remembered the lesson he had first learned on Fyrine IV years earlier.

_Know this, if you would learn to live in peace with yourself and with the divine universe. What is in the past matters no longer. When you were a youngling, you did things that a youngling would do. When you grow into knowledge and grace, the foolishness of the youngling passes from you. What is in the mind and heart and soul of the enlightened one is all that matters. And if there is love, nothing else matters. Love yourself. Love your people. Love those who hate you. Love the universe. If you keep that lesson inside you, you are_ hashkaahl.

_Hashkaahl_. The word had no equivalent. It was divine grace, but more than that. It was someone who had tasted the gifts that the divine universe had offered and realized that they are both insignificant and the most important thing of all. It was the pinnacle of Drac spirituality, to achieve _hashkaahl_.

Will imagined that maybe some archaic Earth religion had a similar concept, but he'd never really followed any before Jerry taught him about Shizmaa. Without a similar theology to offer Jerry, he'd jokingly said that Mickey Mouse was a great Earth philosopher.

Jerry stopped singing, and reverently brought its own copy of the Talmon to its lips before opening its eyes. “Do you remember now, Daa-witch?”

Will scrubbed his stinging eyes. “Yeah. I remember that part. Help me understand.”

Knee walking until it was right in front of Will, Jerry spread its three-fingered hand over the human's chest. “You carry Shizmaa in your heart now.” It moved its hand up, and tenderly cupped the side of his head. “You carry Shizmaa now in your mind. You are not who you were when you did those things. You are now on the path to _hashkaahl_. You have been—," he searched for a similar human word and found one. "You have been redeemed.”

Before Will could respond, a reptilian bundle of energy threw itself onto his back. “Uncle!” Zammis cried.

“Hey you little pollywog!” He reached over his shoulder and pulled the young Drac into his arms, hugging it tightly. When he released Zammis, it threw itself at its parent for another hug.

Jeriba smiled at him over the child's shoulder. “You must decide where _hashkaahl_ will lead you next, Daa-witch. Perhaps you will be the one to bring it to your own people.”

Will grabbed Jeriba's shoulder and squeezed. “We. We could bring it to them. And maybe peace for us all.”


End file.
